


a cure I know that soothes the soul

by procellous



Series: the paint could peel, the glass could shatter [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (about killing Ramsay), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fertility Issues, First Time, Healing Sex, Implied/Referenced Ramsay Bolton, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/pseuds/procellous
Summary: No matter how many times he did this, she could never tire of it—Theon kneeling between her thighs, his mouth and fingers working at her, the way he would moan at her taste, his soft hair in her hands as she guided him to her pleasure. It wasgood,the sweet release of it, the breathy sigh he gave against her inner thigh, his touch on her erasing the phantom hands that clung to her skin.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Series: the paint could peel, the glass could shatter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554892
Comments: 25
Kudos: 69





	a cure I know that soothes the soul

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Theon still has his dick. The castration's a stupid edgy twist that makes no sense and so I'm ignoring it. 
> 
> This is unofficially dedicated to the person who was complaining that Theonsa was a bad ship because Theon just eats Sansa out a bunch. fuck you too buddy.

No matter how many times he did this, she could never tire of it—Theon kneeling between her thighs, his mouth and fingers working at her, the way he would moan at her taste, his soft hair in her hands as she guided him to her pleasure. It was _good_ , the sweet release of it, the breathy sigh he gave against her inner thigh, his touch on her erasing the phantom hands that clung to her skin. Sometimes he would stay on his knees by her feet for a little while afterwards. It _should_ have bothered her to see him leaning his head against her knee, it should have reminded her of Reek and Ramsay and all the fear and pain of that—but she found that she liked having him there, where she could feel him against her, could reach out and touch him, run her fingers through his hair and know that he was there and safe and loved. She told him each time that he could sit beside her instead, but he’d only ever shook his head and tell her that he’d get up in a minute. 

There was only one problem. It wasn’t even really a problem, truly, except that she had noticed and now it was niggling at her, something to fuss and fret over. Theon never seemed to get hard. He would stir a little at the beginning of their…dalliances, yes, but then he would put his mouth to her and was soft again by the time he pulled away. 

It worried her. There were men who did not desire that pleasure, but that didn’t quite make sense for Theon, and why would he do this if he didn’t desire her? If it were some other man, she might fear that he was merely delaying his own pleasure to lull her into false security, but she trusted Theon far too much to suspect him of such a thing. 

Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of _delaying_ so much as setting aside, so as to not scare her—that did seem more like Theon; he might well worry that she would be reminded of Ramsay to see his desire. 

“Theon,” she said as she carded her fingers through his hair. Theon made a sleepy noise, blinking up at her. He reminded her of a cat when he was sitting and dozing by her feet—free to come and go as he willed, but content to sit beside her. “Why have you not taken me?”

He blinked in surprise, his brows drawing together. “What do you mean?”

She could feel herself flush. “I mean that as much as I love having your mouth on me, it’s all we do,” she said stiffly, “and…well, you don’t exactly get anything out of it yourself.” 

“Sansa,” he said, meeting her eyes with a wry twist of a smile. “It’s my favorite thing to do. I love watching you peak, I love the way you taste, I love making you gasp my name. I _love_ it, I would be happy doing nothing else for the rest of my life. I could write odes to it. And I—I do take myself in hand while I kiss you.”

“I just don’t want to be selfish. Or to have you think I’d be too scared to…do other things. I trust you, Theon, I know you’d never hurt me.”

Theon looked down at that, his throat working. “I don’t…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, leaning against her knee. 

“Do you want me?”

“Of course I do.” He sounded miserable. “It’s not that I think you would be scared.”

“Then what is it?”

He stared at his hands while Sansa stroked his hair, waiting, worried. There were tears welling up in his eyes when he finally spoke. “I know you wouldn’t be scared. _I’m_ scared. I know it’s not—rational. But every time I try to picture it, _he’s_ there too. I know he’s dead. I _know_ he can’t hurt either of us anymore. I just can’t, not without thinking about him. What he’d do, what he’d say. How he’d use it against us.” A tear slipped down his cheek. His voice was nearly a whisper. “How he’d punish us for it.”

There was no comfort she could give him for this; no assurance that he didn’t already know. She brushed her hand down his curls and across his cheek, hoping he could feel her love through the touch. 

“Besides, I’d be risking getting a bastard on you, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“What?”

Sansa gathered up all her courage. Theon had bared his fears for her; she could tell him this. “I’m barren.”

“Oh.” She wished she could guess what was behind that syllable. 

“Brienne took me to a midwife, after you had left, to make sure he hadn’t…there’s scars there, the midwife said. Even if I could conceive, I probably couldn’t carry to term.” The midwife had been terribly kind about it. Sansa had barely processed it in the rush of relief that there was nothing growing inside her; it hadn’t truly sunk in until later, when they had reclaimed Winterfell—he might not have left anything inside her, but he had taken any possibility of it from her. 

How like him. 

“Would it help,” she began, and bit her lip, suddenly uncertain. “Would it help if I told you how I killed him?”

Theon let out a shuddering sigh, turning his face into her leg. “Please?”

“Not here,” she decided. “Come to bed with me?”

He nodded, letting her help him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her, his knees stiff from kneeling. She should probably have him kneel on a cushion instead of the hard floor. 

“Alright,” she said as they lay down, the furs covering them. Theon had his arms around her, his green-grey eyes fixed on her. “Alright.” She closed her eyes, not sure whether she wanted to conjure up the memory of his screaming or banish it away. “After the battle, Jon had him on the ground. He was beating him bloody for nearly killing Rickon, but he stopped when he saw me. He was trying to beat him to death. Ramsay was unconscious when he was chained up. I ordered him brought to the kennels.”

Theon’s hand drifted around her, dipping between her legs almost idly. He pressed kisses to the bare skin of her breast as his fingers slid in and out of her, drawing out a low moan from her. 

“I was there when he woke up. I was waiting for him. He was bloody and beaten and at my mercy and he was still _smiling_. Like I was going to let him go— _yes_ , Theon, there, right there—he tried to taunt me, to get under my skin. I told him he was going to disappear.” 

Theon’s mouth closed around her breast, sucking softly at the sensitive skin, a tease of tongue and teeth.

“I was going to make him disappear. There would be nothing left of him. No record, no memory.”

His thumb brushed against her clit, sending a wave of pleasure through her as his fingers plunged deeper. She wanted more, wanted to feel all of him. 

“He had been taunting us,” she said, breathless. “Telling us how he hadn’t fed his hounds. They were hungry…starving creatures aren’t loyal.”

Theon hadn’t been so different from those dogs while he was in Ramsay’s hands, had he? Starved for affection, for contact—and then she had been there. 

“I let them loose on him. He _screamed_ as they bit down,” she gasped. “Screamed and screamed and screamed. They ate his face first, I wish you could have seen it. There was nothing left afterwards. Just some broken bones. They had eaten him all up, every bit of him. It barely took any time at all. Maybe a minute, and then he was— _ah!_ —he was gone.”

Theon’s hand slid out of her as she peaked. He rolled them over so that Sansa was straddling him, his hands resting on her hips as she straddled his legs. His hard cock curved upwards against their bellies. 

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Yes, yes, _please_. Take me.”

He grinned and kissed her, a quick press of lips. “Not quite. Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

He nodded, blinking quickly, his eyes suspiciously bright. “Alright, then.” His voice was soft. “Sit up for me?” 

His hands shifted so that he was holding her by the back of her thighs and lifted her up, guiding him over his cock. The head of it brushed against he slick, wet folds as she braced her arms on his chest. 

“Go slowly,” he advised. “There’s no need to rush, just take your time.”

She swallowed down her sudden nerves. This was Theon. He loved her, and she loved him. Theon’s cock was thicker than his fingers, thicker and longer than Ramsay’s, but it wasn’t a weapon. He wasn’t going to hurt her with it. This was Theon. She trusted him. 

The head of it slid inside surprisingly easily. Ramsay had to shove it in to get it in at all—

“Sansa,” Theon said, his fingers digging into her thighs to get her attention. There were tears on her face, sliding down her cheeks and dying in salt on her lips. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I _want_ to,” she said, shaking her head. “I want this. I just…”

“Keep talking about it?”

She nodded. “He was covered in his own blood. Jon had broken his nose, blacked both his eyes, split his lips. He could barely speak, his mouth was swelling so badly. I couldn’t even see his teeth because they were all covered in blood. He was smiling, but his face was such a mess.”

“Roll your hips for me, love, there you go.” His hands guided her into the motion. 

“He thought I needed him.” Each roll and rock brought Theon farther into her. “Thought that there was some part of me that was his. Thought that I was like him.”

“He was wrong.”

Her hips stuttered a little at Theon’s immediate response. “Was he? I enjoyed it…”

“It was justice.” Theon started giving her shallow thrusts in time with her movements, filling her. “Nothing he ever did was justice.”

Her breath left her in a shudder, her head tipping back as she sank the last inch down, taking Theon to the hilt. 

“You’re nothing like him, Sansa. You’re brave and strong and clever and _good_ , you’re so good.” His hands ran up and down her sides as she rocked against him. “Fuck, Sansa, _Sansa_ —I’m close—”

“Go on then,” she said. “Spend inside me, _Theon_ , I want to feel you—”

Theon thrust up into her with a strangled cry. It felt different as he spent than Ramsay; of course, it wasn’t mixed with blood and pain, just his seed and her wetness, sliding down her thighs as he drew himself out. 

She felt boneless as she collapsed onto Theon, giggling as he brushed her hair out of his mouth. She curled up next to him, draping an arm over his waist and running her fingers along the inked lines on his side. The chiseled marks crossed over older scars, disguising their shape.

“I should go,” he said. 

“Stay,” she whined, burrowing into his chest. 

He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Someone might wonder where the Queen disappeared to, and they’ll have questions if they find her in bed with the Ironborn ambassador.”

“They’d have questions if they found you with your face between my legs,” she grumbled without heat, “but you do that every time we get a minute alone. Stay with me a while yet.”

He laughed. “Alright,” he said, carding a hand through her hair. “I’ll stay a little while.”

She clung to him, their legs tangling together. This was her favorite part, truly, of all their affair—holding him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the strength in his arms, the gentleness in his hands. 

She let herself dream idle fantasies of a world where they were wedded, where this could happen every night instead of stolen hours, where she could openly hold him and not cause a scandal. She’d get with child, sooner or later, hold a little babe with Theon’s eyes and her own red hair. What would they name it? Maybe Robb, for a boy—for a girl, maybe for their mothers—

It didn’t matter, truly, what they might name a child. Her idle fantasies were only fantasies; she couldn’t bear a child. It was never going to happen; that was that. Dwelling on it only made it hurt more.

“I love you,” Theon murmured into the crown of her head. 


End file.
